Grey Cells and Suits
by CJcraziness
Summary: What happened when Moriarty is locked away after stealing the crown jewels? We know what happens before and after, just not much about during. Some interactions between Jim and Mycroft while he's imprisoned. -Pre-Myriarty leading to into Myriarty-


Grey walls of a cell... Grey ceiling of the cell... Grey floor of his cell... Everything was grey and dirty and unsanitary and undeniably boring. Even his concrete slab of a bed was grey and the thin mattress was grey; his door was silvery grey and the light fittings above him were greyish while the light was bright white. Almost everything around him was covered in boring grey... it was hateful.

Moriarty sat on the floor facing the door, the floor was cool and he could feel it through the thin, dirty, grey prison regulation clothing he had been given weeks ago. He didn't like the feeling of being unclean, but other than a small sink that gave out less than adequate quality water there was nothing he could do about his filthy self. He was no longer the perfectly manicured and obsessively clean man he was weeks ago. However, his own odour was the main thing winding himself up, he smelt foul and he couldn't stand it. It had been exactly three weeks since he had been brought here, even though he could never tell exactly what time it was, he had noticed the time and date on the watch of one of the guards who was designated to check on him. From the faces he remembered there were only four different guards who were his. Three males and a female. Like all other prison guards in the world they had expressionless or bored looking faces, stiff and rigid body language and most of the time ignored his existence.

He was only acknowledged when he was being dragged into the interrogation room. It happened every two days; his inquisitor changing each time, even though through the black one-sided glass he knew there was the same pair of eyes watching. The owners hadn't ventured out and only gave the orders behind his dark fortress of glass.

Although, he was slightly unaware of the time, he knew today was a day he will be carted off into the interrogation chamber. A room with more grey and a chair and a table... which were silvery grey. He did hate the colour grey. When he got out he would burn every single grey suit he owned... Westwood or not. He missed his Westwood suits.

He continued to stare vacantly at the door, waiting for someone to open it and haul him away. They would be here soon... He could tell.

* * *

A hour later the was noise outside his door, key in a lock and the door heaved open. There were four people at the door. All four of his personal prison guards waited in the doorway encase he did something they classed as stupid or unnecessary. The plain and boring woman guard and a large, well built man stepped forward. They gazed at him with blank eyes while they pulled him to his feet, twisted his arms behind him roughly and handcuffed his wrists so tight the cuffs bit into his flesh. A black fabric bag was pulled over his head before he was tugged out of the room and dragged out the cell.

He let his body go limp as the guards dragged him backwards down corridors and around some corners before they stopped and a door was opened. He was sure he could walk the route now if he was allowed and not blinded. He was shoved into the room, forced to sit in his own cold, metal chair; his cuffs were re-cuffed to the chair and bag pulled off. His eyes blinked open and his vision filled with the customary interrogation chamber. The guards retreated and he seemed to be left alone. He was rarely left alone. Interrogations would usually start instantly and he would endure everything, if it be words and lecturing to full blown torture... burns, bruises, drowning, choking... but mostly beatings. Most interrogators seemed to like either beatings or anything to do with water.

He scanned the room more now, already feeling the eyes boring into the back of his head. He wasn't alone then. Someone was behind the glass as per usual or...

Footsteps and extremely quiet breathing. Why hadn't he heard it before?

He craned his neck back to look at his new torturer, but as he moved his neck one way the person moved so they were out of his line of sight. They appeared to be pacing behind him. Their footsteps echoing loudly in the small concrete room. This went on for a few minutes and Moriarty was getting slightly agitated... the quiet ones were always the worse. They thought over very painful methods of extracting information before they experimented it on him. Normally, he would have been spoken to, acknowledged or most likely the torture would have commenced by now.

He cleared his throat noisily, he may as well get it over and done with. The pacing stopped abruptly. There was a squeak of shoes as they turned to face him from behind. The steps moved quietly nearer, each stride was confident and controlled. They stopped very close behind him. The breathing was smooth but louder now.

"You wish to speak?" The inquisitor spoke, the monotone, serious and coldly calm tone demanded respect and authority. It almost made him shiver, but it was familiar. Where had he heard it before?

"Yes." He replied but that was all he came up with. There was a hushed exhale from behind him, it brushed against his hair and tickled his neck. Suddenly he realised how close his torturer was. He was right behind him! He tilted his head upwards to see a tall man towering over him. His pale, blue eyes pierced into his own, his confident smirk seemed to convey he knew something Moriarty didn't. The man was dressed immaculately, his silky gingery hair was combed back; his three piece suit was expensive... Moriarty recognised the make but grimaced at the colour. It was pinstriped and dark grey, it was a little different to the prison's colour but it was still grey.

His pale eyes were knowing as he locked onto Moriarty, the gaze almost felt violating and as if he could read him like a book. It was an unsettling sensation. One he had only experienced once before. He was sure he knew who the man was... he just couldn't remember. He recognised him and the name was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't say it. Either way, he wanted to know why the man made him feel uncomfortable and who he was. He tried to hide his insecurity with his signature sinister smirk and manic glare that sometimes had unnerved some of the previous interrogators.

The man only crossed his arms and he seemed to put an umbrella on his arm, it was odd. Then it hit him, he knew who it was. It was Mycroft Holmes! The older Holmes brother. The man he had been messing with for a while. Recently, destroying a operation about a known terrorist bomb on a flight, along with other numerous operations here and there. He had been trying to get his attention for a while... He was most likely the one who always was behind the glass. No he was the one. The one who oversaw everything... How had he forgotten his name? Maybe the torture had actually been effecting him. He frowned inwardly to himself but didn't show it on the outside.

"Mr Holmes, what a pleasure..." He spoke loudly with as much venom as he could muster, he wanted to show he wasn't scared and wouldn't do anything, just like to all the others.

"I was wondering when you would realise it was I." He said coldly and calmly.

Moriarty giggled and lowered his head, his neck was starting to hurt. Mycroft walked around him and perched himself on the edge of the table with his arms crossed against his chest loosely.

"Will you talk today?"

Moriarty continued giggling, had he just asked him to talk? Was that his strategy? 'I will ask you nicely to speak and you will...' this maybe the easiest and weirdest interrogations so far. Then again, this was Mycroft Holmes... it would be trap or something. He probably wanted to be nice to get inside his head. "Why do you think you can make me cooperate compared to fully trained interrogators?"

"As I am not an interrogator." He said gazing at Moriarty with an unknown expression, it was strange but it was nice. "I am here to make a deal..." He continued.

"Oh... I see. You're all giving up, you think I won't break." He giggled manically and shook his head. They were useless if they gave up so early. "And I won't!" He added.

"I assure you, I do not give up easily. This is a change of strategy. I'll admit you have disappointed a good number of interrogators over last few weeks. They were given a good test and all failed."

"A change of strategy, of course it is. What is your deal, Mr Holmes?"

"You mentioned you wished to know about Sherlock Holmes when you arrived. You claimed:" He got out a small notebook and read from it. "'That I will not speak a word unless I am given one thing. I want to know everything about Sherlock.' Not to mention you engraved your last cell with the said name over thirty times. You must have ruined your manicured nails at the time."

Moriarty ignored the comment and focused on the main information. "You're gonna tell me about your brother? In exchange for what exactly...?"

"I want to know about everything you have planned... What you will do and what you have done. I want to know everything. In exchange for everything known about Sherlock Holmes." His voice seemed slightly less calm as he spoke his brother's name.

"You will sell out your own brother for your country... I like it. Very heartless, Mr Holmes. We have a deal." Moriarty grinned widely.

"Good." Mycroft's lips curled into a slight smile.

* * *

Moriarty was taken into a interrogation room everyday now. It was a different room with no black glass or cameras. The room was solely for Mycroft and Jim use. At the first few sessions they spoke very seriously and only business was discussed. After a week, they spoke in a more causal tone, well Moriarty did and Mycroft spoke slightly less professionally, his cold and calm tone slipping every now and again. They both sat in the room for hours on end, but it was never over four hours. Sometimes it was about an hour or at times, the full four.

The first week Mycroft spoke about Sherlock's childhood years, from the day he was born to the age of about ten. He relayed the memories as if he was reading them off a file. He remembered everything... every detail and left nothing out. Moriarty would sit, listening intensively and gazing wondrously into the other man's pale blue eyes. He in turn would return the gaze and it would only be broken when one of them blinked. Occasionally when the locked eyes whoever was speaking would stop just for a second... it was ever so strange. They both kept emotionless, blank expressions but their eyes would sometimes give something away. Something... he was unsure what though.

Sherlock seemed to have a isolated childhood, but could understand why he was like who he was. It should have made him sad really, but it didn't. He lapped up the data and stored away for its intended use. Mycroft had no idea what it would be used for, when he found out... well... he would have a problem. Sherlock would have a problem. He recalled one particular interesting conversation of Sherlock's childhood.

"Sherlock was kicked out of his Primary school at the age of ten. He told his teacher that her husband had been having an affair for over ten years. When he was disciplined for it, he went into a tantrum and in front of the headmaster and class he deduced that the headmaster was an unhappy marriage and was having an affair as well. Also, that he turning to alcohol for his marital problems and was a danger to the school due to his drinking problems."

Moriarty nodded and tried to suppress the giggle but couldn't. "Well, of course Sherly did. He needed to show off his big intellect at the age of ten as well."

"He does like to be dramatic. I cannot say I helped by assisting him in improving his observational skills at the time." Mycroft admitted truthfully.

Moriarty smirked and raised an eyebrow as he gazed at the other man. Mycroft was expecting him to start revealing some of his own plans soon. But he would put it off as long as he could and then would only reveal what was necessary. "You probably should have helped improve his social skills as well... being a big brother and all."

"Possibly. Though I do not think that would have helped much. He wouldn't be the man he is today, would he now?"

"No, he wouldn't. And I wouldn't be so interested in him... if he was more ordinary or boring..." He emphasised the 'O's in both words.

Mycroft dismissed the statement and moved on. His voice was slightly unsteady as he discussed the next topic. "Sherlock was bullied a lot in school. Even in lower school, in a private one, the children were still as cruel. He was constantly called names and when he could not take it anymore it resorted to violence. He would come home covered in new bruises and sometimes there was nothing I could do about it." Mycroft looked away but Moriarty almost grinned as the man who was normally so defined as cold was saddened by the memory. But after a while, it wanted to make himself feel sad also. It was unusual to say the least.

When Mycroft looked back his face was blank. "Because of this Sherlock was educated at home." The conversation continued with a lot less emotion prior.

* * *

"When are you going to start keeping your end of the bargain, Mr Moriarty?" Mycroft spoke loudly as he paced the length of the room. Moriarty could not see him but he could however hear the echoing footsteps in the small room. He was sat in his metal chair, hands cuffed in front of him as had come customary. Mycroft had thought he was becoming a little of a threat and so his hands were no longer cuffed behind himself.

"Soon." Moriarty stressed and grinned menacingly to himself. Mycroft stopped before strolling over to the seated man.

"I think you should start now. This is an exchange. I do not believe you have exchanged anything yet." Mycroft stated as be perched himself on the end of the table in front of the dishevelled man. He gazed with his sharp pale eyes that racked over the untidy prisoner and he leaned forward so they were more eye level. "I think you should start talking soon... Very soon... For your own sake, Mr Moriarty." He threatened with his monotone, cool and calm voice.

"Oh you think so?" Moriarty laughed off the threat. If it could be called a threat... it was a extremely weak excuse for one. He widened his eyes as he glared into the icy pale orbs. He realised Mycroft was very close to him, invading his personal space just a little bit. He was sure they had not been this close to each other before. He had never been able to examine those blue eyes so closely or notice every freckle the older man had on his slightly coloured cheeks. His eyebrows raised at the weird thoughts that entered his mind.

Mycroft leaned even closer, his slow breathes brushed over Moriarty's face and tickled his cheeks. His face was dangerous close to his own. He could see every flaw and blemish on the older man's face, not that he wanted too. He stared into the deadly serious cold eyes with equal intensity. "Well?" Mycroft questioned.

This was when an absurd idea popped into the madman's mind. Mycroft's face was so near to his own. His pink lips hovering so near to his own. He had no idea where the urge came from but he wanted to kiss the man in front of him. He immediately tried to push the thought away, yet it didn't disappear. It became clear that his desire may play into his own hands, it would confuse Mycroft and turn into a distraction. He licked his lips which had become very dry over the last minute. Mycroft hadn't moved an inch, still waiting for a response. He would have not calculated the response he would receive. It should definitely play to his advantage. Moriarty gave into his somewhat random urge and tilted his head and pressed his lips against Mycroft's in a soft kiss. It was a very simple and gentle kiss... it could hardly be called a kiss at all. Mycroft made a delicious noise of surprise and stepped back. He stared with wide eyes and a perplexed expression, his mouth was hanging open. He blinked twice and composed himself seconds later. Moriarty chuckled at the silly display. Was it that easy to overthrow the perfect emotionless and cold that the Great Mycroft Holmes held so dear? If so he would kiss him again and again.

Seriousness seeped into Mycroft's features as he regarded the prisoner seated before him. A sly smirk had slipped onto Moriarty's face and he promptly licked his lips suggestively. Mycroft said nothing and quickly walked out of the room, the door closing loudly and Jim Moriarty was left alone.

* * *

The next two days there was no meetings. No interrogation. No words. No sound. Just silence... He wasn't even visited by his guards to feed him. He left hungry all day but it didn't bother him too much. He was used to eating very little in here. He had lost significant amount of weight since being locked up. His frame was even thinner than it had ever been; he would have to feed himself up to fit into this Westwood suits when he got out.

He was not bored all day, though he thought he would be. He replayed the memory of kissing Mycroft in his head... over and over and over again. He wasn't too sure why and he didn't like not knowing. But the memory was funny and almost pleasant, Mycroft was shocked and his expression had been one of the funniest things he had seen in months. Maybe even more comical then winding up Sherlock. Mycroft's shock had been very amusing.

Yet, it had almost been pleasant and nice. The cool lips touching lightly against his own was definitely something he had liked. Realisation dawned on him and he stood up abruptly. He had liked... it! He had liked... kissing Mycroft. And so he liked... Mycroft? That couldn't be right. His body was just messing with him. His mind playing games with himself. He couldn't possibly like Mycroft Holmes... for all his grace and power and cold and confidence. He just couldn't. Then again, he was similar to him in some regard he guessed. Both of them were normally cold and calculating creatures with power to throw around. The more he thought on the matter the more connections he drew, the more similarities he saw. There was obvious differences and things that clashed too. Well, Mycroft for one was not a criminal, not in the same sense as himself. He cared about people as well... Sherlock. His country. Obviously. He had now realised he had an interest in the Iceman as he had dubbed him at one point... but it would never grow beyond that. He stood next his bed, thinking and staring at the grey walls; he was interrupted by noises outside the door.

Talking. Rather loud talking. People disagreeing or arguing. Two voices almost shouting and one other voice quietly confident. Then the loud voices calmed and there was a scraping sound as the door was unlocked. Moriarty's head snapped back to gaze at the door as it opened widely and slowly. It revealed two male guards who were not his, they looked more like bodyguards dressed in black suits and in the background there was two of his usual prison guards. There was also one other man stood in the middle of them.

It was Mycroft Holmes, who was looking at his phone in his hand and leaning on his umbrella. He looked up as the door stopped and glared at Moriarty before nodding. The two bodyguards stepped into his cell, one of them carried a restraint jacket; they plodded over to Moriarty who stared at them with a amused expression. He was strapped into the restraint jacket, they checked there was no way he could get out of it and then pushed him onto his mattress. He landed heavily.

They stepped back out and Mycroft strode forward, his eyes flicking room the cell with distaste. He grimaced at the smell but turned and nodded to the guards who shut the door again. It clanked shut and Jim and Mycroft were locked in the cell together.

"Nice cell you have here." He said sarcastically, a fake smile on his lips.

"I know. It's wonderful, isn't it?" Moriarty called in his sing-song voice.

"Indeed."

"What are you doing in my simple dwellings, Mycroft?"

"I have little time today so I will be brief..." Moriarty stood up and went to lean against the wall instead. Mycroft's eyes followed him and he resumed when he had settled again. "Our conversation was cut rather short two days ago and I need to know that you will start giving information. You need to abide by our agreement, Mr Moriarty." His voice was its usual cold and calm.

Moriarty noted he was avoiding the subject of the kiss. He smirked as he was now locked in his own cell with him. Though he would be out with any odd sound or call, he could still mess with the man as the door did take a while to open. He could walk straight up to him and kiss him again. He could do just that. He wanted to do just that. He got lost in his head thinking about kissing him a second time.

He was disrupted from his entertaining thoughts by Mycroft clearing his throat rather loudly. Moriarty's eyes flickered over the older man who was slightly closer than before. He wanted the man to be even nearer... invading his personal space. He pushed off the wall which was to some extent a little harder now he was in a restraint jacket. "Yes?" He called as he tilted his head to the side his eyes looking Mycroft up and down.

"Shall I take that as yes, you will start abiding our agreement? Or I need to repeat what I said before?"

"The latter... You were being boring. Wasn't listening."

"I would prefer you listened, Mr Moriarty." Mycroft's gaze became icy and his voice lower and threatening.

"Yes, continue." Moriarty moved closer, his feet pacing leisurely towards the older man.

Mycroft subconsciously took a few steps backwards when Moriarty was getting too close for comfort. He tried to ignore Moriarty moving towards him and focused on what he had to say.

"I need to know that you will start giving information." Mycroft stated and before Moriarty could step closer he was stopped by the end of Mycroft's umbrella poking him in the stomach. Moriarty gazed irritated at the object and ran his gaze up to Mycroft.

"I will start talking soon." He growled as he pushed the umbrella out the way. "But first..." He advanced on Mycroft again, who found himself against a wall. Moriarty licked his lips as he gazed at his prey. Mycroft didn't move, he didn't do anything as Moriarty moved into his own space and pinned him against the wall with his body. Simply leaning on him as that was all the restraints would allow him do. He would much prefer the other man to be one, restrained... be in his clutches. He gazed up into Mycroft pale blue orbs which didn't seem to be showing anything at all. No cold or ice but they seemed vacant. Lost. Moriarty leaned up and pressed his lips on the taller man's, who did nothing at first. He did not push him away, did not call his bodyguards or did not do anything at all. At first.

Then something he wasn't expecting happened...

Mycroft Holmes kissed him back. His umbrella clattered to the floor in what almost felt like slow motion as he took Jim's face in his hands and bit down on his lip, who moaned rather loudly...

There was a bang on the door, and Mycroft moved his lips back but his hands stayed on Jim's face, fingers stroking his skin rather possessively.

"Sir, are you alright? We heard a noise." A guard shouted through the door.

Mycroft breathed deeply through his noise and while still gazing at the madman in front of him said:

"Fine. Everything is absolutely fine." He smirked and crashed their lips together once again. Moriarty was overjoyed, he hadn't expected any of this. Let alone Mycroft initiating the kiss.

"Alright sir." Was shouted back. He was right... everything was alright. More than alright.

Moriarty attempted to guide them to his crumpled and horrible mattress but it was better than the floor. He knew Mycroft wouldn't let any part of himself touch the disgusting floor other than his shoes. They somehow managed to arrive at the bed and he pushed Mycroft onto it and hastily straggled his lap. They seemed to smirk at each other before kissing again. Kissing starting slow and only a little passionate but the kisses heated up a quickly, with more bites and tongue. He slid his quicksilver tongue into the other man's mouth he groaned quietly, his hands moved to Moriarty's hair tugging roughly on it, pulling him as close as he possibly could be. Moriarty wished his hands were free as they would be doing a number of things if they were... unbuttoning something at the least. He wanted to see under the light grey suit; under the jacket, the waistcoat and the shirt. Under it all! He growled into the kisses but they stopped all too soon, as Mycroft pulled away. He stared at the man straggling his lap with what could only be described as lust. He was no longer the calm and composed Mycroft Holmes, he was something else entirely.

"I need to leave." He whispered slightly disappointed against Moriarty's skin. Moriarty growled in response but reluctantly stood up. Mycroft got up, brushed himself down of the dirt, dust and creases. He smoothed down his gingery hair and straightened his light grey suit. Moriarty smirked, he made grey look sexy. But he still greatly despised the colour. Mycroft picked up his umbrella and strode over to the smaller man, placing light kisses along the smaller man's cheek travelling up to his ear.

"I will see you tomorrow..." He whispered lowly, caressing the words on his tongue. He gave Moriarty a quick teasing bite on his ear before moving away. He turned around swiftly and knocked on the door. Moriarty sat back on his bed staring at the man as he walked out the door. His jacket was taken off and he was left alone once more. Left alone staring at the grey walls once again.

* * *

**I hope you like it. I've read fics with what happened when Moriarty was imprisoned and wanted to do one. Not to mention someone prompted me to do so. Both characters are likely to be quite or a bit OOC but in my opinion they are hard characters to write. Love them both though! Why do I ship them?**

**If there are any spelling mistakes tell me please. Review, favourite and etc (if you wish) ****Thank you for reading to the end.**


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